So Long, PGA Tour

The one thing you can expect from a six-year-old is honesty. In fact, be ready for brutal honesty. I was reminded of this during a recent two-week break from playing golf on the PGA Tour and announcing golf for ABC, a dual role that had kept me from home more than I had anticipated. I was driving my son Brandel Jr. (we call him Little B) to school when he suddenly asked, "Daddy, do you like golf?" Puzzled, I said, "Sure, I love golf." Little B then asked, "Why? It takes you away from your kids." I tried to explain about jobs and what I do for a living, and when that didn't sink it,

I said, "Go look in your toy room. Golf is where all that stuff comes from."

I thought I had scored with that remark -- until a few days later when we were sitting at the dinner table. I had helped Little B build a boat for Boy Scouts, and he was excitedly talking about racing it the next day. I had to tell him, "Sorry, B, I'm not going to be here tomorrow when you get home from school. I've got to go to a golf tournament." Little B didn't even look up from his plate. "Well," he said, "thanks for stopping by."

I looked at my wife, Karen, with a shocked expression. My son wasn't being cynical or malicious. He was being honest. I also realized, sadly, that he was used to being disappointed by his frequent-flier father. Little B's comment cut me to the bone.

It rained that day in Scottsdale, where we live, but cleared off by evening. I sat on the back patio from midnight until 3 a.m., having a couple of Scotches, smoking a cigar and considering my options while gazing into the dark Arizona sky. I had already decided that playing on Tour and broadcasting didn't mix, and initially was leaning toward refocusing on my playing career, which would require considerable practice plus a trip through two stages of qualifying school after my dismal 2003 season. I'm 41, and as fortysomething players such as Jay Haas, Loren Roberts, Kenny Perry and Bob Tway proved this year, that age can still be prime time. However, I also had the unexpected offer of a full-time job with the Golf Channel -- where I got my start in TV -- which would allow me to be home more with Karen, Little B, our one-year-old son, Brennen, and our three-month-old daughter, Bergen. As I looked at the starry sky, the decision wasn't too difficult.

The next day I found the Golf Channel contract where I'd left it by the phone, and I asked Karen to come watch. "I need a witness in case I'm later ruled insane," I told her. I felt strange as I signed the contract and fed it into the fax machine. In essence I was saying that I had given up golf. At the same time, ending my playing career felt liberating. I was hanging up my spikes and retiring from tournament competition not because I didn't love golf, but because I loved my family more. I wasn't willing to be a phone dad anymore or miss my kids' soccer games or recitals or dinners together. Golf had been very, very good to me, but it felt great to trot out this cliché: Stick a fork in me, I'm done. I wanted to see what a normal life was like. I wanted to be a real person.

Professional golfers have one thought that they can never shake: I ought to be practicing. I've been home for two weeks now, and guess what? It's amazing how much you can do around the house and how much time you can spend with your kids when you don't have to chisel out four or five hours a day to practice. My normal Sunday routine used to be breakfast, playtime with the kids and church. Then I'd go to the golf course and practice until dinner or darkness, whichever came first. A couple of Sundays ago, as a newly freed man, I dropped off Little B at a friend's birthday party, ran a bunch of errands, then spent the afternoon at home. I caught Karen looking at me at one point, beaming. "I can't believe you're home," she said, answering my curious gaze. "You're really home!"

Another reason my time as a golfer is up is that traveling with more than one child is as relaxing as taking a bath with a cobra. Take our family excursion last February to the Pebble Beach Pro-Am ... please. The Monterey Peninsula is the Michelle Pfeiffer of scenery, but we were unable to enjoy it. Brennen, then barely five months old, somehow rolled off the hotel bed one night, made a loud thump when he hit the floor and started bawling. It was scary. Karen rushed him to the emergency room. The doctors said he was probably O.K., unless he started to throw up. Karen and Brennen got back to the room at about three in the morning, but Brennen started throwing up the next day -- we didn't know it at the time, but there was a flu bug going around the players' day-care center that week -- so Karen rushed him back to the ER for a full examination. Again, they got back at about 3 a.m. The next night Little B got violently ill and started throwing up. Brennen was still throwing up. It was terrible.

Not surprisingly, I missed the cut. Still, I was determined to enjoy the trip and take the family on a nice drive along the coast. I figured the kids had 24-hour flu bugs. We stopped at the Hearst Castle and had a picnic, but when we reached San Luis Obispo, Karen got sick. That's when I realized two things: We have to get home, and I'm next! I drove straight to Phoenix as fast as the speed limit allowed -- honest, officer -- and sure enough, we had barely made it home before I was doubled over a toilet. The next day Karen looked at me and said, "I don't think we're traveling as a family anymore." I second that motion.

My new gig means roughly 60 days on the road versus 180 as a player. After Little B finishes first grade next spring, we might even move -- either to Florida, near the Golf Channel studio, or to Texas, where I have a posse of relatives, including my parents. Moving will be a tougher decision than giving up golf because I've lived in Scottsdale for nearly 13 years and have created a Disneyland for the kids in our backyard. My pal Andrew Magee says there are only two man-made objects you can see from space -- the Great Wall of China and my playground. It's like a Nickelodeon set. My yard is almost an acre. I have a sidewalk inside the perimeter on which kids can ride skateboards, bikes or motorized cars. I have a huge playground with tunnels and slides. There's a putting green, a bunker and a large grass tee area, plus a pool and a Jacuzzi. It took two years to get it the way I wanted it, and if I say so myself, ChambleeWorld is a kids' paradise.